


Somniloquy

by ScarlettArbuckle



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Meeting in dreams, POV Ignis Scientia, POV Prompto Argentum, Work In Progress, meeting as kids, romance only as adults
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21669103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettArbuckle/pseuds/ScarlettArbuckle
Summary: While not everyone has a soul mate, telling whether or not you actually have one isn't always as easy as seeing words on your skin or a string of fate on your finger.Ignis isn't sure if the man in his dreams is his soul mate or an imaginary friend that never went away. It certainly would help if he could remember his name, or what he looked like -Prompto, meanwhile, is horrified that it took him most of his life to realize he was sharing dreams with an actual living person, and doesn't know if he should seek them out or hide away forever.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Somniloquy

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy. I will update as quickly as I can. Any CC or errors, please feel free to let me know so I can fix them.
> 
> This prompt was for Raechu and Boogs - who always have the best plotting sessions! I did sort of take the prompt and run with it. 
> 
> Also, it's impossible not to feel inspired by [EzraTheBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzraTheBlue/pseuds/EzraTheBlue) soulmate [series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535891), so please check those out if you're craving beautiful soulmate fics! 
> 
> Briefly, Ignis' dreams will be more based on touch, smell, and sound because that is how I dream - I never remember any of the visible characteristics from my dreams, while Prompto has more visual, vivid dreams. I apologize if the discordance is a turn off! Thank you for reading.

zZzZzZ

Ignis’ room in the Citadel was at least thirty floors up (at least according to his uncle), and yet at night he can still acutely hear the clatter of truck tires on the roads below the occasional car horn, and even the shrill shriek of emergency sirens at night. The building seems to sway and creak, sometimes, and in the dead of night, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, he imagines that the building might teeter sideways at any moment. 

It’s a childish thought, one he’s fought to tamp down incessantly since his first night in Insomnia… and yet, even now, he can’t bear to sleep facing that window. Vertigo was never a concern back in Tenebrae, despite the fact he didn’t have inches of glass and steel to protect him from sheer drops off of cliffs there. Even so, at night, the canyon that yawned between the towns and villages was pitch black, dark and still; here, everything is illuminated with light pollution, and he sees just how high he is, how far down the ground is.

Noctis has light up stars on his ceiling, even speckled in constellations down the wall and around the light switch so he can see where it is in the dark, and treacherously Ignis wishes he knew where they got them. He was supposed to be big, now - not a child any longer, he had an ID card (like the adults), and he was responsible for his highness, but- it’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Something to stare at, at night, to try and tune out the drone of noise from down below, to keep from looking out that window. 

For a long moment, and not for the first time, Ignis aches to climb out of bed and into his uncle’s room, like he used to with his mother, to ask if he can sleep there, where at least his uncle’s desk blocks the view enough to close his eyes. But - he’s so busy, and he’s always working so late, and the last thing he wants is to prove he’s incapable of caring for Noctis because he disturbed someone so important with something so silly. 

Resolved, Ignis burrows deeper into his blankets, pinching his eyes closed and trying to imagine the stars - the soft glow, how many he’d put on his walls…

Sleep is soft and fuzzy and comfortable, like a mask dropped over his eyes. He dreams of home; he’s laying on the couch, his cheek pressed against the rough throw blanket his mother draped over the back. She’s there too, puttering in the kitchen, as always, the smell of cloves and orange peels ambient and comfortable. The sun is pouring in through the open windows, warm on his cheek and shoulder where it spills across the couch, and his mother is humming - a melody that catches on her rougher voice, but is warm and familiar, and drowns out everything else. 

Until.

Ignis’ stomach lurches, and when his eyes snap open the room has turned sideways - he's back in the citadel, in the long stretching halls that he walks Noctis down to his nanny. His mother is gone - her humming replaced by the shrieking screams of some big, iron thing outside - desperately, he grabs for the blankets around him, opening his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out, and already he’s dropping through the windows, sinking into the inky depths as if through the surface of a pond--

“It’s okay! Just … fly!” 

“What?” In the midst of falling, with his heart in his throat and limbs snatching out for something to grab hold of, his fingers suddenly catch on the air and he is buoyed upwards - his arms… no, his wings, carry him back to his room, where he lands in a tangle of limbs. In the cool morning air, wide-eyed and breathless from giddy giggles, Ignis forgets how ridiculous the notion of flying is. It isn't until halfway through breakfast, babbling to his quietly amused uncle, that he realizes… he probably just fell out of his bed.

zZzZzZ 

Normally, bedtime for Prompto is something of a process; between brushing his teeth, changing into his pajamas, and letting his parents know he’s ready so they can tuck him in (and sneaking in some playtime with his train set before they get the chance to come up), by the time the light in his room is clicked off he is usually brimming with built up energy and can’t sleep. But somehow, at least for the past few nights, he’s felt impatient for bedtime, his eyes trained on the clock in the living room until bedtime so he can run up the stairs and almost dive into bed.

He can’t put his finger on exactly why. Most of the time, he doesn’t usually remember his dreams anyway unless one of his parents asked him over breakfast, which hasn’t happened lately. But the past few mornings, when the light clicked on and his dad called for him to wake up, the sense that he’d been snapped out of a really good story left him pouty and impatient, hoping that whatever had happened that was so amazing would happen again.

Any other night, Mom would take FOREVER to come. So of course tonight, with a funny smile on her face that he couldn’t even begin to figure out, she sat on the edge of his bed, poking at his round cheeks and laughing when he whined and wriggled away, pressing his face into his pillow. “You’re a little young to be so eager for sleepy time. You’re weirding me out.”

“Moooom.” He whined, batting at her as she ducked in to press kisses to his forehead, then laughed when he tugged the blankets around his chin, closing his eyes tightly as if that would make him fall asleep faster. Finally though she seemed satisfied and rose with a shake of her head, stepping out into the hall and making it almost to the stairs--

“Mom?”

“Mm? Yeah?” The shape of his mother hovered in the doorway, her eyes tired as she leaned against the doorframe. For a moment he considered asking for another kiss, a hug - maybe even...

“Can you.. Um… the light?”

“Oh shit- yeah, got it. Night, Prompto.” The light flicked off, and the door clicked closed.

“Love you.” He murmured. Prompto forgot about how excited he’d been to dream - at least, until his eyes adjusted and the knots in his belly eased a bit. Then, remembering, he rolled onto his stomach, nestling into his pillows and closing his eyes again, focusing on drifting, on maybe getting to fly again-

It wasn’t immediate, but one moment he was curled up in bed, ignoring the rustling of trees under his bedroom window - the next he was… definitely not flying. It was the park by his school, the one with statues and wrought iron benches - the sky was pink, streaked with orange, and heavy dark purple and grey clouds, and though it was raining pretty hard and admittedly cold, the puddles were absolutely huge, and when he jumped into them he sank up to his shins, sending a tsunami of water out around him. With every gleeful stomping step the grass squashed underfoot, and his grin grew wider and wider.

It was fun - super fun - but after a few giddy stomps, Prompto had to wonder why he was so excited for… this.

“Astrals, you’re a right mess - look at you.” A voice piped up from behind him, and instantly he remembered. The boy. 

Spinning around, Prompto’s face split into a broad smile. The other boy looked horrified, green eyes wide as he took in the mud splattered over his clothes and hair and the guiltless grin that split his face. Maybe from his parents the words would’ve made him feel self conscious, but here they had the opposite effect - Prompto laughed, a burst of obnoxiously happy sound, and instead of scraping the mud away he lunged for the newcomer, throwing his tiny arms around his middle. “You’re here! You came!”

The other boy yelped and made to hop backward, but ultimately gave in with drawn out sigh, making a face as he plucked grass and chunks of mud from Prompto’s hair. “Of course I did - although you go to bed earlier than I do, so I must have made you wait. I’m so sorry.” The face, previously pulled up into a pinched, almost disapproving expression, quickly morphed into something so sorrowful that Prompto nearly cried out of sheer sympathy. He quickly shook his head, “No! No I promise, I was just… playing!”

A soft hum was his only answer at first, followed eventually by another pluck of fingers at his hair that stole a giggle out of him, especially at the stricken look on the boy’s face as he dropped what might have been a wriggling earthworm into the water. “How on Eos did you get so dirty…?”

“Because it’s fun. I never get to play outside - dad says it’s too cold, and last time my legs got itchy and hot and hurt and I had to take a long bath so -” Prompto made to explain more, but instead stopped, suddenly self conscious. Dropping his arms from around the boy, he stepped back and looked at the water around them, frowning. Was that… childish? Looking up at the other boy, Prompto realized, perhaps for the first time, that he seemed older than him - older in a way that he couldn’t understand, either because of the dream or because he just WAS. 

But… before he could spiral too far, the boy smiled, brushing his hand over his own face as if to push away hair (which was silly because he was pretty sure his hair was slicked up already, although in a dream it was hard to really tell-), and turned his eyes around them, his face turning more playful than stern. “Oh? Well - if playing in mud is fun I should even things out, for your sake!” 

And just like that, the other boy ducked down and scooped his hands in the water, splashing Prompto - only, instead of a wave of murky, muddy water as he expected, clear water - warm and steaming and comfy - poured over him, then broke against the tiles into a spray of bubbles. They were now in a large bath house he’d never seen before, with a square tub that was sized more like a small swimming pool than a tub. Still in his raincoat and booties, and with the other boy in a full body swimsuit, Prompto decided that this MUST be a pool - and with a shriek of laughter he jumped in, eyes glittering as every splash and wave erupted into MORE bubbles, that built and built until even the other boy was nearly covered in them. 

They played for what felt like forever - covering each other in bubbles in a kaleidoscope of shifting colors. At one point, overwhelmed with them, a chocobo trotted through and devoured all the bubbles, and was very happy, thank you, to be lavished with love and pets. As Prompto buried his face into the velvety fluff of the bird’s neck, the other boy languished next to him, dripping with bath water but looking rather proud of himself for having gotten Prompto so clean. With a quiet laugh, his friend reached out to pet the bird, lifting his eyebrows when he met Prompto’s eyes. “You always work in a chocobo somehow.”

That morning, with his dad’s voice ringing out from the hall, Prompto fought back a yawn and rubbed at his eyes, sitting up to sleepily feel around for his glasses.

‘ _You always work in a chocobo somehow…_ ’ Did he…? Prompto couldn’t remember - something about … a bath? Bubbles? For a moment, as he focused on the memory of velvet feathers and cotton candy scented bubbles, Prompto thought he’d seen something about… green…?

“C’mon, kiddo, we’re gonna be late if you don’t get the ball rolling!” Dad’s voice cut through, and like a flash Prompto shot out of bed, all thoughts of his dreams forgotten.


End file.
